


Like One of Your French Girls

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Short Stories! [70]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Awkward Flirting, Dick Jokes, First Meetings, Flirty Bucky Barnes, Fluff and Humor, Insecure Steve Rogers, M/M, Model Bucky, Pre Relationship, Stucky - Freeform, mechanic Bucky, tw: mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29447400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: Smol!Steve needs a model for an end of semester art project.Bucky is more than happy to help out.*****“So I just gotta show up every day and let you paint me?”“Uh, nude.” Steve clarified faintly. “I have to paint you nude.”“Uh huh.” Bucky cocked his head and looked Steve over. “You gonna be nude too, honey?”The light flush turned into a seriously unhealthy blush taking over every inch of Steve’s skin and Bucky laughed at him and put both hands up. “Alright! Alright, I just thought it would be fair! You get to see my dick, I get to see yours but if you’re gonna be a Patty Prude about it, I guess I’ll just have to deal with being ogled!”“Patty Prude?” Steve was still hot to the tip of his ears. “Thanks for that.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Short Stories! [70]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/786345
Comments: 16
Kudos: 307





	Like One of Your French Girls

_TW: For mentions of homophobia when the boys were growing up, brief mention of violence._

********

“I’m sorry Mr. Rogers, I must have misunderstood you.” the lady on the other end of the phone was unfailingly polite even though she was clearly confused. “You want to know whether any of our escorts would accept a lower rate of pay so you could _paint_ them? Instead of... _date_ them?” 

“Yes, I have to finish a project for Art school and all the usual models have already been booked.” Steve drummed his thin fingers on his thigh impatiently, blew a messy thatch of blond hair from his eyes and tried for patience. “The theme of the project is meant to be perfection and since I only have a week till it’s due, I thought calling your… organization… would be a faster way to find someone beautiful than wandering around town for help.” 

“I see.” She very clearly did _not_ see but was too professional to say so. “Unfortunately Mr. Rogers, our rates are set and discounts are not allowed so…”

“No problem.” Steve cut her off before she finished, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Thank you for your time.” 

Okay, so calling an escort service wasn’t his best idea yet but _damn it_ his end of the semester art project was due on Friday and between a bout of the flu that had compromised his already weak lungs and having to pick up extra shifts at the diner to cover rent, Steve had missed all chances to secure one of the art models that the University employed from time to time. It wouldn’t be so hard to find an appropriate model to paint but the theme was _Personal Perfection_ , the model meant to be one that wasn’t necessarily conventionally beautiful but that drew the artists eye as perfect. It was meant to be a mental exercise as well as a study in anatomy and the thing was--

\--alright, the thing was, Steve just didn’t find all that many people beautiful. Or maybe it was that _they_ didn’t find him beautiful, what with his too large eyes and too small stature and too much sass for someone who barely broke a hundred pounds. They didn’t find him beautiful so Steve tended not to find _them_ beautiful and who knew a lifetime of insecurity and shielding himself away from scrutiny would come back to bite him in this particular manner? 

An A on his project guaranteed him a scholarship for the next semester of school and Steve couldn’t afford both rent and school which meant he’d have to drop out and then he’d be twenty four working at a greasy diner and living in a shitty studio apartment with nothing going for him and nothing to be proud of and nothing to--

“Whoa ho easy, sugar. You look like you’re about to think yourself right into a heart attack.” 

Steve’s eyes snapped open when a warm hand landed on his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized his eyes had been closed but it made sense, seeing as how he was working himself up towards a panic attack. 

“Sorry I--” he stopped, wet his lips and looked again up into a pair of crystal blue eyes. “Uh-- hey.” 

“Hey.” the voice was deep, _smooth_ , the hand at Steve’s shoulder calloused as it ran down his arm in a friendly, calming gesture. “There you are, that’s better. I saw ya from across the street and went ‘fuck, bet that beauty’s got baby blue eyes’ so I sauntered over here to see and what’d’ya know?” 

A smile, slightly crooked, slightly pointed teeth and gorgeous enough to take Steve’s breath away. “I was right. You okay? You looked upset on the phone.” 

“On the--” Steve gulped, then gulped again when he realized how dry his throat was. The guy smelled like engine oil and leather, mint from his gum and something fruity that was most likely his shampoo and it was incredible. “--The phone. No, I’m fine. It was-- she was--” 

“Standing you up for a date?” The stranger pulled away a little bit and Steve got a better look at a solid jaw line and a few days worth of scruff, dark hair that hung to the guys shoulders. “Damn shame that, s’almost like someone should buy you lunch to make up for it.” 

“Are you offering to buy me lunch?” Steve’s brain came online just in time to be sarcastic, almost cruel, his initial instinct to push people away rearing it’s ugly head. “Why, cos I look like the type to get stood up often? Cos I’m skinny?” 

“What?” he looked genuinely surprised, not put off by the sarcasm, but maybe a little disappointed that Steve had automatically assumed the worse. “No, I’m offerin’ cos I’m _hoping_ you got stood up so you’re more likely to accept a date with a fella like me. Who say’s you’re skinny?” 

“Um. Everyone.” Steve tilted his head back, taking a minute to just study the stranger.

Yep, crystal blue eyes and dark hair, pink lips and an almost aggravatingly cocky smile, a faded t shirt stretched across big shoulders, big hands smeared with grease, a myriad of tattoos on his left arm that did an almost perfect job of hiding a criss cross network of scars, thighs that made Steve wonder for half a second how well he’d _fit_ and torn jeans over work boots. 

“Everyone.” he said again. “I’m not exactly… robust.” 

“Yeah, you’re fuckin’ cute is what you are.” the guy agreed, and Steve’s brain felt like it broke a little bit. “I feel like I’m usually smoother than this, but uh-- my name’s Bucky. You wanna get lunch?” 

“Bucky.” Steve tested the name, rolled it around in his mouth before deciding something rather shocking and announcing, “I’d rather paint you. You wanna come home with me?” 

“Uh.” Bucky blinked a few times, then lit up with a grin. “Eh. Why the hell not?” 

*********** 

The walk up to Steve’s tiny apartment should have been awkward, but nothing about Bucky was awkward so while the big brunette sauntered along and asked only mildly leading questions, Steve explained his whole project in a rush-- the looming deadline and lack of models, that he’d tried for an escort but couldn’t afford it, that he had to find perfection and that seemed impossible but _man_ he thought Bucky would be a good fit, if he were willing to give it a try.

“So let me get this straight.” Bucky shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it aside once they reached the apartment, perched his huge frame on what now seemed like a laughably small stool and looked around the well lit painting area. “You gotta paint somethin’ perfect, and you saw my greasy ass and thought it would work?” 

Steve flushed a little but nodded and Bucky continued, “So I just gotta show up every day and let you paint me?” 

“Uh, nude.” Steve clarified faintly. “I have to paint you nude.” 

“Uh huh.” Bucky cocked his head and looked Steve over. “You gonna be nude too, honey?” 

The light flush turned into a seriously _unhealthy_ blush taking over every inch of Steve’s skin and Bucky laughed at him and put both hands up. “Alright! Alright, I just thought it would be fair! You get to see my dick, I get to see yours but if you’re gonna be a Patty Prude about it, I guess I’ll just have to deal with being ogled!” 

“Patty Prude?” Steve was still hot to the tip of his ears. “Thanks for that.” 

“I’m gonna order us some pizza.” Bucky was already tapping away at his phone. “Please don’t tell me you’re vegetarian, I can get it up for a lot of things, but never vegetables. Not broccoli.” 

“Oh you don’t have to--” good _god_ was Steve feeling faint. “--you don’t have to get it up for the painting.” 

“You’re gonna paint me all limp dicked and flaccid?!” The sheer horror on Bucky’s face evaporated the last of any awkwardness Steve might have felt and he burst into laughter at the big brunette’s horror, clutched at his side and cackled while Bucky ranted about how a fella should never be painted with his tallywhacker less than _at attention_. 

“Did you just call it a tallywhacker?!” 

“Well usually I call it Mr. Johnson but under the circumstances--” 

“Under the circumstances?!” 

...by the time the pizza arrived, Bucky was down to his skivvies, chatting amiably about nothing in particular as Steve directed him through a few poses so he could get the lines of muscle just right. It wasn’t exactly a hardship, Bucky gorgeous mostly unclothed, even with his hair messy and the tattoos at his left side distorted over the line of scars. He hadn’t hesitated to disrobe, tossed his shirt away and shucked his pants before Steve could even ask. 

“The scars?” Steve asked quietly as he sketched in one of the tattoos. “What happened?” 

“Life.” Bucky shrugged, pushed his hair out of his eyes and shrugged again. “I got tired of people staring at the scars and wanting to know what happened, so I got tattoos to cover them up. Now I don’t see damage, I see art and it helps me feel beautiful.” 

“You are beautiful.” Steve said without thinking, and Bucky turned to him with one of those crooked smiles. 

“You are too.” 

The sun was setting by the time Steve finished the initial sketches, and Bucky got dressed again in the too low light of the solitary lamp in the corner. 

“Uh, here.” Steve felt awkward again as he pulled out about half the money he’d meant to pay the escort, crumpled bill and a handful of change. “It’s not a whole lot but I figured we could do half now and maybe half at the end of the week?” 

“Are you trying to pay me right now?” Bucky glanced down at the money and back up at him. “Seriously?” 

“I was gonna pay the escort…” Steve mumbled and Bucky shook his head, pushed the money back at him. 

“Steve, don’t make this a Pretty Woman situation. You wanna paint my dick, just paint it. No need to buy me a fancy necklace first.” 

“It’s like-- it’s like fifty dollars.” Steve said lamely, not sure if he wanted to laugh at the movie reference or crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. “Dunno if that’s enough for Julia Roberts.” 

“Well it’s too much for my discount Julia Roberts ass.” Bucky picked up his leather jacket and swung it around his shoulders. “Should I come back tomorrow?” 

“Will you?” 

“Hell yeah, ain’t every day a fella gets to hang out with a cutie like you and then tell his friends he’s a professional model for nude studies at the University.” 

“Is that what you’re going to tell your friends?” Steve asked, and Bucky countered, “Nah, m’gonna tell them I met some hot blond who would rather paint me than fuck me. That’s the same thing, right?” 

“You--” _are perfect_. “--are probably the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” 

“Says the guy who full on propositioned me with fifty bucks and a paint brush.” Bucky winked on his way out the door. “Eat the left over pizza, alright? See you tomorrow, Stevie.” 

**********

The next day Bucky was back wearing less layers, the grease washed off his hands and his hair back in a neat bun. He was no less breath-taking and no less fucking _ridiculous_ though, as he plopped onto the stool and spread his arms wide,. “Alright Stevie, paint me like one of your French girls.” 

“I don’t think we need to go quite that far.” Steve stammered a little. “Today I’m going to focus on the small details like your eyes and the tattoos… all that sort of thing, okay?” 

“Sure sure.” Bucky stayed still and obediently pliant as Steve moved around him sketching. “Is it just you living here?” 

“You mean, do I have a roommate who’s going to come in and be upset I have a half naked guy in the living room?” Steve raised his eyebrows and Bucky spread his hands vaguely. “No, it’s just me. Life would be easier with a roommate, but I prefer to live alone.” 

“Why?” 

The pencil stilled for a second before Steve answered, “Can’t get rejected if you never ask, right?” 

Bucky’s brow furrows and Steve was quick to brush it off with a half self deprecating, “Besides, I’m a shitty roommate. I’d eat all their food and leave my paint everywhere and I never sleep so they’d wake up to use the bathroom and be freaked out by me sitting in the living room with my eyes wide open like a damn creeper.” 

Bucky laughed then, and Steve smiled too. “Well what if you moved to bigger place? Some where with better lighting to do your painting?” 

“Don’t need a bigger place.”

“Well yeah but--” 

“What would I say to the leasing agent?” Steve asked wryly. “Please sir I need a bigger apartment to better paint naked people, however I’m very small and I have no money, so you can see the predicament I’m in.” 

“Well I am _not_ small, but I also have no money so maybe we could not have no money together.” Bucky suggested it like there was nothing weird about offering to move in with someone after two days. 

“You are… _not_ small.” Steve tried very hard not to look down at Bucky’s boxer briefs just then. “But I’m fine living alone.” 

“Take another peek at my dick, I think you’ll change your mind.” 

Steve dropped the pencil in a rush of embarrassment, and Bucky laughed forever over it. 

****************

On the third day, Steve was working on an actual pose and he had Bucky switch positions several times before he managed to find on that would highlight the muscles clear through Bucky’s body, accent the tattoos at his left side and let his hair fall just right to soften the line of his jaw. 

“Like this.” the little blond decided, pulling a few more strands from Bucky’s bun and framing it around his face. “You’re perfect.” 

Bucky’s lips twitched up in a smile but he didn’t say anything until Steve was back at his easel. 

Then they talked about everything-- how Steve had gotten into painting, how Bucky was paying his way through mechanic school by working at the shop and taking on side jobs, how they were both born and raised in a bad part of Brooklyn but Steve had worked hard to erase the lazier speech from his tone while Bucky laid it on thick and thicker just to be obnoxious and make Steve laugh. 

“People don’t know what it’s like for us.” Bucky said later, his chin tilted to the sun so Steve could sketch some shadows in. “They think we grow up in a neighborhood like that and never want more than a job at the corner shop and to knock a dame up at seventeen, people on the outside look at us like all we’re ever gonna be is trash from that specific part of town and then when we try to better ourselves it’s like… it’s like how dare we get uppity, or somethin’ you know? How dare we try to move on, right? Fuck ‘em if they don’t want their bike fixed by someone that talks like me, how does where I grew up have any bearing on who I wanna be?” 

Steve’s fingers shook a little as he painted the dip of Bucky’s collarbone. “When did you leave that end of town?” 

“When I was fifteen I got jumped.” Bucky said slowly. “Turns out me being gay didn’t sit real well with some of the neighborhood kids, so they tried to beat it outta me. Ended up cutting my arm up real bad and left me about half dead. I uh-- I left after that.” 

“Your parents?” Steve asked faintly. “What did they say?” 

“I dunno.” the big brunette thumbed over his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I just sorta… just sorta left. Travelled a little bit, managed to get my GED and enlisted for a few years. Did my four and got out and didn’t know what to do with my life so I am working on mechanic school now.” 

“That and seducing little blonds into feeding me pizza and painting me.” he winked, partly to change the subject, partly to erase the sadness in Steve’s eyes. “So I’d say everything’s worked out pretty good.” 

“...when I came out, everyone acted like it explained a bunch about me.” Steve started quietly. “Like my size and my love for art and me being constantly sick growing up had anything to do with me likin’ guys. It was like ‘oh Steve, that makes so much sense’ and I always wondered if the reaction would have been different if I looked like you.” 

“Like me?” 

“Like I could have anyone I wanted as a partner.” Steve clarified, and busied himself mixing up a specific shade of blue so he wouldn’t have to look up and see Bucky pitying him. “I mean, I can’t imagine you go anywhere without getting whistled at by everybody, but girls aren’t attracted to me. And only some guys are. Someone once told me I was an easy gay, that I look so much like a girl it’s easy for straight guys to try things out and decide if they liked it or not.” 

“Holy shit.” Bucky made a gagging noise in the back of his throat. “Tell you what, you tell me who said that and I’m’a beat them to death with a wrench. What the fuck. That’s so messed up!” 

And then-- “Wait, when you called the escort service, were you asking for a guy or a girl?” 

“...a girl.” Steve’s cheeks flushed dull red. “The theme is supposed to be a reflection of what we see is beautiful, so the person doesn’t have to be flawless, they just have to evoke beauty in us. We’re supposed to show the world how that person is perfect, because beautiful and perfection is only in the eye of the beholder right? We’re supposed to coax the world to find the person perfect like we do.” 

“And you couldn’t think of anyone you know that’s beautiful?” Bucky sounded skeptical. “No one? I see beautiful people all the time!” 

“People don’t think I’m beautiful or perfect.” Steve said slowly, carefully. “So I tend not to think they are beautiful or perfect either.” 

“Hell, I thought you were beautiful.” the model said bluntly. “About got my ass killed hurrying across the street to meet you cos I thought you were beautiful. Didn’t know if you were perfect till you acted all dorky on me, but I figured it out pretty quick.” 

“I think you’re beautiful too.” Steve fought against a smile. “And I think you’re pretty damn perfect too. Which is honestly the only reason I haven’t thrown you out despite your many many dick jokes.” 

“That’s why, huh?” Bucky’s eyes shifted a shade darker and Steve’s breath caught. “M’perfect even with the dick jokes?” 

“...yeah.” A quick glance at Bucky’s tattoos and the horrible story that lay beneath, an even quicker touch just to feel the model’s skin. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

************

Bucky could hear the music before he even got to Steve’s door, and when he stepped into the tiny apartment the noise jangled awful against his ears. 

“Stevie!” he set sandwiches down and a coffee from the place Steve had mentioned liking and hollered again for the blond. “Stevie! What the fuck is this music?!” 

“Hey Bucky.” Steve’s eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed as he sipped at something dark in his glass. “Did you just get here?” 

“What’s with the hootenanny music?” Bucky inclined his head towards the food so Steve would know to eat and then went to see how much work had been done on the painting the previous night. “I can hear the banjos halfway down the hall. How do you paint to this shit?” 

“It’s distracting.” Steve tossed back the rest of what was in his glass and grabbed up a sandwich. “Cos you know, today’s gonna be a little awkward.” 

“We’ve been hanging out all week, why is today gonna be awkward?” Bucky finally found the Ipod player and shut the obnoxious noise off. “What’s going on today?” 

“Uh--” Steve’s throat jerked as he swallowed. “Today you gotta be naked.” 

“And you needed the world’s worst music and--” Bucky sniffed at the glass. “--straight whiskey to deal with me being naked?” 

Steve _eep_!ed a little and Bucky’s pale eyes cleared in understanding. “You needed the worlds worst music and straight whiskey to deal with me being naked!” 

“You don’t have to look so pleased about it.” Steve protested, and the brunette crowed, “Oh ho ho I think I do! Are you going to be shy with me, Stevie? Thought banjos and alcohol would make it easier not to stare at my Willy Wonka?” 

“Calling it stupid things doesn’t make it any easier!” the blond cried. “At least seeing a girl naked is like, oh there’s her hoo-hah--” 

“Her _what_?!” Bucky exploded into laughter and Steve briefly considered throwing himself out the window. “What did you just say?!” 

“-- but you know I think you’re beautiful and sort of unfairly hot and--” Steve tugged his shirt collar up like he could disappear into it. “It’s not going to be easy painting you nude, okay? I am not professional enough to separate my work from my-- my dirtier thoughts. So I thought the crappy music and liquor would make things easier.” 

“Well I’m not dropping trou to anything other than jazz.” Bucky unhooked Steve’s Ipod and hooked his phone up instead. “Banjo’s might relax you but it’s going to cause some serious shrinkage on my part, and I’d rather not be painted when my balls are tryna hide in my body to get away from the tunes.” 

“Oh my god.” 

Smooth jazz filled the apartment a moment later, and Bucky let his hand rest at Steve’s waist for just a second as he passed on his way to find more whiskey. 

“Here.” he gulped back a shot then poured one for Steve. “A little liquid courage, some smooth jazz, let’s get naked, alright?” 

“Al--alright.” 

Steve tried not to stare when Bucky got undressed, but it was basically impossible. The difference between only wearing underwear and not wearing anything at all was only about eight inches worth of skin but it was an _important_ eight inches of skin and while Bucky stretched and moved around and got used to the temperature in the room, Steve just stood and sort of stared. 

_Perfection._

_Wow._

“Alright, sweetheart.” Bucky got up on the stool, one foot on a higher rung and the other foot hanging relaxed so the muscles in his legs were on full display, his cock soft and thick but easily nearly camouflaged in a few creative shadows, shoulders straight and chin tilted up, hands loose on his thighs. “You ready to do this?” 

“...yes?” 

“Alright then.” A grin that was almost heart stopping. “Paint me like one of your French girls.” 

***********

“I got an A!” Steve started talking before Bucky had even said hello, but on the other side of the line, Bucky whooped out loud and cheered for him. “I got an A! My professor loved the painting, said it was telling that I chose a subject so physically different from myself as a picture of perfection, but he loved the tattoos and the scars because everyone else chose _models_ as a model and I chose a real person and he loved the messy hair and the nudity because it’s not porn it’s art and he just--”

He stopped to take a breath, wheezed a little and felt around for his inhaler. “Hold on-- hold on--” 

“Aw honey, do I take your breath away?” Bucky chuckled into the phone. “Let me know when you are breathing again.” 

“I’m fine.” Steve wheezed through a laugh. “I’m just so excited. An A on my final project guarantees me another semester of school paid and I’ve been working extra just in case, so now I have extra money and can take you out to dinner--” 

“You wanna take me out to dinner?” Bucky interrupted. “What, like a date?” 

“As-- as a thank you?” Steve nibbled at his thumbnail uncertainly. “And maybe a date, if you’re open to it?” 

“Open to it?” Bucky’s laugh was clear and happy. “Stevie, last week I had to sit with my dick out for six hours and try not to chub up while you stared at me. If anything, I deserve dinner just for that incredible show of self control!” 

“Alright, that too.” Steve finally stopped fighting his smile. “So. Dinner? We could order in maybe. I promise not to paint you or make you listen to banjo music.” 

“Sounds real good, Stevie.” Bucky’s grin was infectious even through the phone. “That sounds real good.” 

************

**Chapter Notes:**

> _This was supposed to be shorter, but I’m done apologizing for skipping word limits._
> 
> _It was also supposed to be lighter hearted but I fell down the rabbit hole of how Steve doesn’t see beauty in people because they don’t see beauty in him and that made me very sad._

***********


End file.
